Unguarded
by ArmedWithAComputer
Summary: He probably shouldn't have enjoyed the sight of Neal Caffrey on his couch as much as he did. But there was something undeniably… nice… about the somewhat-reformed conman being there... *gen*


**A/N: I am an adolescent girl with far too much time on her hands, not Margaret Mitchell reincarnate. Meaning… I will have flaws in my writing. Don't get in a tizzy over it. Please. I'm doing my best.**

**Disclaimer? Pft. As I said before, I am an adolescent girl with far too much time on her hands. I. Own. Nothing.**

* * *

He probably shouldn't have enjoyed the sight of _Neal Caffrey _on his couch as much as he did. But there was something undeniably… nice… about the somewhat-reformed conman being there, curled up on his side as he was. The paint stained t-shirt Neal currently wore had riled up somewhat, exposing sections of the young man's midriff. This – coupled with the faintly flushed cheeks and tousled hair – gave Neal the appearance of being much… much younger than he truly was.

Peter crossed his arms and leaned against the living room wall, a small smile flitting across his face as he examined his partner. It was so rare to see Neal so completely unguarded… no expectant, silly grin upon his face… the mischievous, calculating shine in his eyes that seemed to be ever constant nowhere within sight. The FBI agent found that he didn't miss it all that much. He enjoyed Neal much more at times like this… where everything was quiet and any thoughts of tracking anklets and FBI badges were far from their minds.

Peter wondered silently if he should wake his _consultant _up or not. It wasn't the first time the bright eyed man had fallen asleep on his couch. But most often it happened while they were on a case, working late into the night. Neal's eyes would begin to droop and his shoulders would start to sag. Eventually, he would somehow wind up curled up on the Burke's couch one way or another, his arms wrapped around his torso and his knees nearly touching his chin. Peter would find a blanket in the hall closet and would drape it over the already-sleeping-Neal. After all, that's what _comrades _do. Peter's lips twitched in a smile at the thought.

But this time… they hadn't even been working. Well… at least not on anything related to the Bureau. Elizabeth had wanted the kitchen repainted. Who better than their friendly, neighborhood art thief?

Sorry, correction: _Alleged _art thief.

Neal had been more than willing to help out – even going so far as to help El decide on a color, something Peter was extremely grateful for. His wife never liked his suggestions (he didn't see anything wrong with the kitchen as it was) but she also seemed to get just as annoyed when he told her that whatever she chose would be fine with him.

Peter rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes soft with affection as Neal shifted in his sleep, his mouth falling partway open with an almost inaudible sigh. Neal had worked hard – completing painting with Peter much sooner than they had planned on. But it seemed that the conman had been working on far too little sleep… as was apparent from his current state. Kate's death had hit the young man hard and it had caused more nightmares for Neal than Peter would like to think about… but Neal was strong. All the energy he had put into looking for Kate was now focused upon finding her murderer… although he still thought that he was discreet enough for Peter to not notice his hunt for the killers.

Peter rolled his eyes at the thought as he walked to the hall closet to get a blanket. _Better not to wake Neal up just yet – not when he was finally getting some well deserved sleep._ But – really. Did Neal honestly think that he wouldn't know? Peter liked to think that the younger man knew him better than that. But whenever he thought that - Neal's words from That Day would flit through his mind – _you have your life, I'll get to have one of my own – _and he wouldn't be so sure anymore.

He shouldn't have ever had to reassure Neal that he was more than just a convict-turned-consultant to them. To him. _You already have one. You have people that care about you._ He would have thought that this fact was obvious to the usually perceptive young man.

Peter walked back to the couch – a soft green blanket now in his hands. He paused for a moment, once more examining the sleeping _reformed _conman with a critical eye before draping the blanket over him. Yes. Some sleep would do him good…

Peter rested his hand on Neal's head for a moment, letting his fingers sink into the unruly locks – silently reassuring himself that Neal was in fact, truly there. It was hard to believe how close they – he – had come to losing this brilliant… intelligent… kindhearted being. If he had stepped onto that plane… Peter swallowed somewhat thickly. He couldn't stand the thought of a world without _Neal Caffrey_, despite him really being a quite recent addition to his life…

_You make a difference. You do._

The kid really did.

* * *

**Wow - look at that! A post-Out of the Box fic where Neal isn't so depressed he's suicidal!**

**I know it is not the best... but reviews are appreciated.**


End file.
